Consequences
by MazzieRoko
Summary: Inquisitor Lavellan has made some hard decisions, and several enemies. An assassin hunts her, intent on making her face the consequences for crossing him. All while Lavellan still needs to defeat Corypheus, plus try to figure out Solas. LavellanxSolas, mentions of FHawkexFenris (Spoilers for DA3, of course)
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:** Hi guys! I haven't written much, especially fanfiction, for a looong time. So comments and critiques welcome!

Also - Remember in Dragon Age Inquisition after you try to close the Breach the first time? Then you wake up later in Haven, and this lady elf comes in for a cut scene? Well, I've decided to name that elf Marna for the sake of this story, as I never caught a name for her. This should become clear on its own in the story, though! (I hope...)

And - The Inquisitor here is based on the character I played in the game - female Dalish elf Lavellan.

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Dragon Age 3 - Bioware does. I'm not making any money from writing this story. I'm just a fan of the game and wanted to express my love through writing! (Does this work for a disclaimer? I'm totally rusty on this stuff...) 

* * *

Skyhold was relatively quiet, with the majority of the Inquisition's forces still returning from the Arbor Wilds. Having fewer mouths to feed did little to improve the cook's mood, however.

"Marna! Stop your dallying and get on with it! The Inquisitor is waiting!" the cook scolded. She waved at a tray with one hand, the other on her hip as she gave Marna a disapproving glare. "Why she ever requested you specifically I'll never understand."

"Oh-of course, Cook," the elf with short, reddish-brown hair stammered. She hastily picked up the tray and left the heat of the kitchen. Dawn was rising outside, and it was her duty to take breakfast to Inquisitor Lavellan every morning. Marna carefully made her way up the stairs to the Inquisitor's private quarters, sure not to drop the tray of fruit, bread, and cheese. The Herald of Andraste preferred simple fare for her morning meal.

Marna remembered the first time she met the Herald. It had been just after she had stopped the Breach from growing, back in Haven. Marna was slightly embarrassed, looking back. She had already been afraid when Adan the healer had sent her to store the small crate of herbs in the storage cabin, which was serving as makeshift quarters for Lavellan as she healed from her attempt to close the Breach. How could she risk disturbing the rest of the one trying to save them, the one whom Andraste herself had saved? She was too meek to express her concerns, though, and so had entered the cabin as quietly as possible. She planned to be quick, and leave before anything could happen.

She had been so frightened when Lavellan sat up and stared at her. This was the Herald of Andraste, their hero! And she, little servant Marna, had awoken her! She had fallen to her knees, bowing, babbling, trying to answer Lavellan's questions. She tried not to stare at the dark green, leafy tattoos that branched below her eyes.

_"Is this… another prison?" _Lavellan had asked, dread in her voice. Marna felt anxious, worried, that Lavellan thought they would imprison a hero. She had been a prisoner at first, yes, but that had been wrong! It was before they understood. Even Seeker Cassandra had said so. Thinking this, tongue-tied Marna had remembered the Seeker telling Adan she was to be informed _right away_ when the Herald awoke. She told Lavellan this, her voice shaking, and she stumbled back out of the cabin. _She's awake!_ Marna had told the guards outside, then ran for the Chantry.

Marna shook the memory as she reached the door leading directly into the Inquisitor's quarters. Once she had been made Inquisitor, Lavellan had asked specifically for her to serve as her personal maidservant. Such an honor! When the cook had asked why (how could she question the Inquisitor?!) she wanted such a clumsy elf, Lavellan had laughed lightly, smiling past the cook, directly at Marna. _"Well, honestly, she was the first friendly face I had seen since stepping out of the rift!"_ Lavellan had said. Marna was not used to such kindness, as growing up in the Alienage orphanage had provided little of it. Since then, she had eagerly served the Inquisitor, bringing her meals, delivering messages, anything she might need. She could not fight, but Marna was proud of the part she could play, in doing her best to help the Inquisitor.

Marna knocked on the door, two soft and two loud so the Inquisitor would know it was her.

"Come in, Marna!" Lavellan called.

Marna entered, closing the door carefully behind her. She walked up the last of the stairs leading into Lavellan's quarters. The Inquisitor was already dressed, though barefoot. She held a large tome in her hands, pacing absently as she read from it. She looked up, smiling at Marna.

"Good morning, Marna. Perfect timing as always! I was just starting to feel hungry," she said, closing the tome and placing it on her desk. She plopped down in the chair behind her desk, running a hand through her short brown hair. She closed her eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath.

Marna brought the tray to the desk, careful to avoid staring at Lavellan's face, from which her vallaslin had disappeared a week ago. She had not asked, and Lavellan had not shared.

"Did you sleep well, Lady Inquisitor?" Marna asked as she poured water from pitcher into a goblet.

"Ah, a bit," Lavellan replied, opening her eyes. She smiled as she took the goblet and drank. Marna stepped back, glancing over her shoulder as Lavellan drank. The bed was still perfectly made, which would explain the dark splotches beneath Lavellan's eyes. Marna was worried – Lavellan had slept little since returning from the Arbor Wilds. She had heard of the battle and the temple. Exactly what had happened in the temple was never said, and Marna was sure she was better off not knowing. Whatever it was, though, was costing the Inquisitor restful sleep.

"Is something wrong, Marna?" Lavellan asked. "You're frowning."

Marna started. "Ah, I was just… thinking. Wou- would you like me to bring you herbal tea tonight?" At Lavellan's questioning look, she continued. "To help you sleep…better..."

Lavellan made a face.

"I didn't mean anything by it, Inquisitor, I just thought…" Marna stammered, again reminded of her first meeting with the Herald.

"Oh, don't trouble yourself so, Marna," Lavellan said with a laugh. "You know I'm not fond of tea." Her gaze grew distant, looking past Marna. "There's just so much to think about, so much to do…"

Marna looked at the floor, fidgeting slightly. Moments passed, before the Inquisitor came back to herself.

"Ah, sorry," she said, sitting up straighter in her chair and clearing her throat. She smiled at Marna. "Would you mind asking my advisers to meet me in the war room, in an hour? And deliver this note to the Horse Master?"

"Of course, Inquisitor. Is there anything else?"

Lavellan snapped her fingers, then began shuffling through the papers on her desk. "Ah, thank you for reminding me. Would you mind picking up these books for me, as well?" She found the right paper, a short list of titles, and handed it to Marna.

"Yes, Inquisitor, of course," Marna answered eagerly, taking the list. The folded the paper gingerly and placed it in her pocket.

"Great, thank you, Marna," Lavellan said, turning her attention to her meal. Marna paused a moment, in case Lavellan thought of anything else – a habit borne from her years as a servant. She stepped quietly over to the side table, taking the empty tray from last night. It wasn't like Lavellan to take the evening meals alone in her quarters as she had done for the last several nights. Another thing that worried Marna.

"Oh, Marna, before you go," Lavellan said. Marna turned back to face her, tray in hand. Lavellan continued. "You… you know I appreciate your help, yes?"

Marna felt herself blush. "Of course, Inquisitor. I… I know it isn't much, but anything I can do to help…"

"I'm completely serious," Lavellan said, smiling slightly. "I can see that you worry for me, and I'm touched. I just want you to know that I truly appreciate everything you do for me, it really helps having someone I trust. And you don't need to worry." Lavellan was sitting straight, smiling slightly, her head held high. She looked enough like her usual strong Inquisitor-self that Marna believed her as she continued. "I will be fine, and we _will_ win this fight."

Marna felt a rush of warmth and pride. The Inquisitor _trusted_ her! "Yes, Inquisitor. Th-thank you," she managed to say, though it came out little more than a whisper.

"Thank you, Marna," Lavellan said, still smiling slightly.

With a bow, Marna left the Inquisitor's quarters. She didn't see Lavellan sigh and slump forward to rest her head in her hand, elbow propped up on the desk. After a moment, the elf shook her head and stood. She picked up an apple and a sheaf of papers, pacing slowly again as she read the report. The pacing helped keep her awake. As if the worries and weight of the world were not enough on their own. 

* * *

Several men were unloading supplies from the cart and carrying them up the stairs into the kitchen. One paid particularly close attention to the happenings around him. He heard the cook yell at a young elven woman. At the mention of the Inquisitor, he looked up from the sack of flour he had just slung into place. Realizing this woman must serve the Inquisitor directly, he quickly memorized her features. As she left the kitchen he took a step forward to follow her. One of the other men called to him, telling him there was still more in the cart to unload, and he better not be running off. The man grit his teeth. He would bide his time. 

* * *

Varric sat at the table by the fire in the Great Hall. It was a nice spot, easy to see the comings and goings of the castle. He sat back with his mug, watching the castle come to life. He chuckled lightly, seeing the elf Marna emerge from Lavellan's quarters. The usually timid elf was beaming, a bounce in her step as she headed for the kitchen.

"Something amusing, Child of the Stone?" asked Solas, standing in the doorway that led to his rotunda.

Varric nodded toward Marna. "She's awful chipper for once, isn't she?"

"It appears so," Solas agreed with a nod.

"She just came from the Inquisitor's room. She must have something to do with it," Verric said, glancing sideways at Solas as he took a drink.

"Perhaps. The Inquisitor is certainly a kind woman," Solas said, his tone betraying nothing.

Varric nodded in agreement, placing the mug on the table. "Say, you're up pretty early, Chuckles. Don't you need to sleep to do your Fade walking thing?"

"Yes. I find myself restless today, though."

Varric waved a hand at the chair beside him. "Take a seat then." Noticing Solas's hesitation, Varric decided he wouldn't bring up the Inquisitor again. He had noticed the the stark difference in their relationship, and had his suspicions as to what had happened, but decided now was not the time to discuss it with either of them. "I could use your help with something, actually," he said, indicating the papers, pen, and inkwell before him. Several pages were covered in Verric's neat script, lines here and there crossed out and notes written in the margins.

"My publisher keeps sending me threatening letters, demanding something new," Varric started, as Solas took a seat. "I'm thinking about starting a new serial. Courtly intrigue, assassins, spies, traitors, that sort of thing."

"Would this happen to be inspired by our time at the Winter Palace?" Solas asked, slightly amused.

"You got it, Chuckles," Varric said with a nod and smile. " I think I'll leave out the whole rifts, demons, and the influence of an evil ancient magister, though. Too unbelievable," he said with a wink.

"I would be glad to help. What do you need?"

"Well, I'm trying to describe a noble's face when he learns that the princess he's betrothed to is actually a Qunari spy. Human of course, but working with the Qunari."

"Ah, an interesting situation." Solas remarked, a slight smile playing on his lips. The two settled in to their discussion. 

* * *

Marna had already returned the tray to the kitchen, and informed Cullen, Josephine, and Leliana that the Inquisitor wished to meet with them. She was in the library, holding three books as the archivist searched for the last title on Lavellan's list.

"It's on ancient elven herbal treatments, and prayers for health… it should be here… oh I remember now, the surgeon borrowed it!" the high-strung archivist exclaimed. "I told her to be sure not to get blood on it, and she laughed at me! You'll have to get it from her. If there's a speck of blood on it, the spymaster will have my skin," he huffed, waving his hands as he marched away from Marna.

She stood there a moment, considering. Should she leave these books here while she achieved the last one? Or take these to the Inquisitor first? No, she decided, she didn't want to risk someone else taking them, or interrupting Lavellan. She would have to carry the large tomes over to the infirmary.

After explaining to the surgeon that it was the Inquisitor who had requested the book, she turned it over the Marna. She was relieved to see there was no blood on it. Moving back toward the Great Hall with all four books in hand, she was stopped by Seeker Cassandra who was exiting the tavern.

"Marna, have you seen Varric this morning? I expected to find him passed out in the tavern after all his drinking last night, but it seems I was mistaken." Marna couldn't tell if the Seeker was upset or amused.

"Um, yes, Seeker Pentaghast. He's in the Great Hall. At least, he was earlier," Marna answered, shifting the books in her arms.

"Thank you. Do you need help with those?"

"Oh, no, thank you, Seeker," Marna replied. She couldn't let someone as important as the Seeker assist her in such a task.

"Alright, have a good day," Cassandra said, turning away. She paused turning back to Marna. "Would you tell the cook to keep a close eye on the supplies just delivered? The men who brought them in are in the tavern, and Sera seemed very interested in the details of their delivery. I imagine she is planning a prank of some kind." Her voice was definitely disapproving this time.

"Yes, Seeker," Marna said, nodding. Cook would certainly be upset. Cassandra thanked her, and left.

Marna began to follow, when she remembered the note for Horse Master Dennett. She berated herself for forgetting such a thing. The Inquisitor _trusted_ her, and she must not let her down. She shifted the books again, heading down the stone stairs toward the stables. 

* * *

The man had slipped out of the tavern, away from the others. He had established himself as a loner on the trip, and the others were wary of him, so they said nothing when he left. There was just enough chill in the air for him to keep his hood up, for which he was grateful. He was glad of his luck again when he spotted the elven servant from before, this time carrying books and speaking with a human woman in armor. After a moment the two women separated. Making sure no one was paying attention, and stepping quietly, he followed the elven woman.

* * *

"Good morning, Seeker. How can this humble dwarf be of service this fine day?" Varric asked as Cassandra approached him and Solas.

Cassandra scowled. "You, humble? I have met kings with more humility than you."

Varric shrugged. "Well, you are a Seeker of Truth, so that must be true."

Cassandra cleared her throat. "I was hoping to speak to you in private, Varric."

"Well, Chuckles here can keep a secret. So take a seat and lets have this little heart to heart you want," Varric said, amused at Cassandra's answering scowl. She shifted in place, but did not sit.

"It is about your serial… _Swords and Shields_. The final chapter was… more than adequate," Cassandra said, avoiding meeting Varric's eyes.

Solas smiled slightly, and Varric chuckled. "Just adequate, Seeker? Is that the _truth_?"

Cassandra crossed her arms. "Fine. It was… wonderful. I enjoyed it."

"Well, it's nice to hear from a fan. I'm working on a new serial, in fact." Varric swept a hand over the papers scattered before him and Solas.

Cassandra took a seat. "May I… may I see it?"

Varric hesitated, seeming to consider. "Alright, I suppose you can help. As long as you don't go telling all your friends about it." Cassandra scowled in response, but the look disappeared as Varric handed her the first page.

* * *

Marna berated herself again for forgetting to deliver the note to Dennett earlier. Her arms were quickly tiring of carrying the books. Dennett had read the note, then waved her off when she asked if she should wait for his reply.

"Just tell Inquisition the mounts are fine. She worries too much," he had said. Marna bowed slightly, paused until he reentered the stables, then headed toward the stairs to the kitchen. She still had to give the cook Seeker Cassandra's warning.

"You, girl," a low voice said. Marna looked around, seeing a hooded figure in the shadow of the stables. She shivered slightly, reminded that she herself should have grabbed her cloak before venturing into the morning chill.

"Ah, yes, sir? Can I… help you?" she asked, approaching the figure.

As soon as she was close enough, the man grabbed her. The books fell from her hands as he pressed her against the stone wall, one hand over her mouth and the other holding a dagger to her throat. Marna's scream was muffled enough that no one heard it over the sounds of the horses and such in the stables.

"Actually, you can," the man growled. He was taller than her, but in the shadow she could not make out his face under the hood. She shivered, wide-eyed and terrified.

"You will take me to the Inquisitor's quarters. I wish to speak with her privately. Scream or run and you won't live to be rescued. Do as I say, and you will live, and no harm will befall anyone else. Blink if you understand." The man spoke with menace, and Marna had no doubt he was dangerous. Her frightened mind could think of nothing but that danger. She blinked.

"Good," the man said, releasing her slowly. If she decided to scream or run, he was close enough to end her. Marna sank to the ground, fear weakening her legs. "Get up. Now," the man growled.

"The… books," Marna managed to whisper, looking at the tomes she had been asked to deliver. "The Inquisitor's… they're for her..."

"Hmph." The man was unimpressed. He seemed to change his mind, though. "Alright, pick them up. That will be our excuse for going to her quarters."

Marna hesitated, but managed to pick up the books and stand again.

"Here," the man said. Marna flinched as he took two of the tomes from her arms. "I'm helping you carry them. Understand?" Marna nodded quickly. If she did as he said, everything would be fine. Right?

"Good. Now go. Remember I am right behind you," the man growled.

Marna nodded again, taking a few shaking steps toward the stairs leading to the kitchen. Her mind slowly began working again. What could this violent man want with the Inquisitor? It couldn't be just to talk, could it? Was he… was he going to hurt her?

She hesitated at the door leading into the kitchen. An angry noise from the man pushed her forward. Maybe someone in the kitchen would notice something was wrong? This was a stranger after all.

Marna's hope sank as she saw the kitchen. Only the cook was present. The others must be serving the morning meal to the few soldiers still at Skyhold. Would cook notice?

The cook turned from her chopping board when the door opened. She sighed. "Marna, what now? Who's this?"

Marna let out a breath, starting to hope. "He's – "

The man cut her off. "One of the delivery men. I'm just helping her carry these books," he said. Marna was surprised how pleasant his voice sounded. Beginning to panic again, Marna was struck by an idea.

"Tea!" she exclaimed. Cook looked at her with exasperation. "F-for the Inquisitor. She wants tea," she added, quieter. Cook knew Lavellan didn't like tea. Surely she would notice this was a strange request…

Cook narrowed her eyes in confusion for a second, then threw her hands up. "What business is it of mine if she wants to start drinking tea. She's the glorious Inquisitor, she can have what she wants!" Cook turned from the two, filling a small kettle with tea. She placed the kettle and a teacup and plate on a tray with more force than necessary. "There, take the blighted thing and get out of my kitchen!"

"You take the tray, Marna," the man said, taking the two books from her arms. She looked up at the man, the kitchen's fire throwing enough light for her to see the snarl on his face. She shivered. She did as he said with her head bowed. Was there nothing she could do?

She glanced behind her as she exited the kitchen. The man was a step behind her. He reached up and pushed his hood back. He knew staying hooded indoors would cause suspicion. She caught a glimpse of dark tan skin before looking away.

In the Great Hall, guests were gathered already. Many sat at the tables being served the morning meal, others milled around throughout the hall. With the majority of the army still in the Arbor Wilds, no guards were posted in here. Marna held out hope someone would see them, someone would say something. Her heart sank as they reached the door leading from the Great Hall to the staircase up to the Inquisitor's quarters. Marna looked down at the tray as the man reached around her and pushed open the door. She thought she saw a tattoo on the arm reaching from beneath his cloak. She stepped through and the man followed, closing the door behind them.

As they climbed the stairs, Marna began to hope again. It had been more than an hour, had it not? The Inquisitor must surely already be meeting with her advisers in the War Room, yes?

Thinking this, Marna knocked on the door into the Inquisitor's quarters. Two soft and two loud, out of habit. She immediately berated herself. She should have knocked differently, so the Inquisitor would at least be more alert! But she wouldn't be there, right?

"Come in, Marna!" came Lavellan's voice. Marna's heart sank, and tears began to well in her eyes.

The Inquisitor _trusted _her… and she was bringing a dangerous stranger right to her room.


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note:** Hello again! A big thank you to those who favorited and followed the last chapter! It makes me so happy and excited to be writing again. :D I'm open to any comments, and let me know if anything is confusing. Enjoy!

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Dragon Age, nor am I making any money from writing about it.

* * *

Marna hesitated at the door to the Inquisitor's quarters. The teacup and saucer on the tray she held clattered slightly in her shaking hands. She jumped with a gasp when the stranger grabbed her shoulder. He reached around her and pushed the door open with his other hand. He must have set down the books somewhere on the way up. His green eyes glared at her. Long ears poked out beneath white hair. _An elf_. Then he was behind her again.

"Go in, now," he ordered, releasing her shoulder. He drew a dagger from its sheath, the sound making Marna shudder.

Marna did as he said, but with timid steps. What more could she do? She felt hopeless, guilt growing alongside her fear. As she reached the top of the last steps, she turned into the room proper. The Inquisitor had her back to her, standing before her desk still in bare feet.

"I'm already late for the meeting with my advisers, I know," Lavellan said, distracted by the papers she had spread before her on the desk. She gathered up several folded pages and began turning around, still looking down at them. "I needed to write a few more messages. Would you mind taking these –"

Lavellan was cut off by a crashing sound and strangled scream. The stranger had grabbed Marna from behind, making her drop the tray in surprise. One arm held Marna in place, and the other held the dagger to her throat.

Lavellan's head snapped up and her eyes went wide as she took in the situation in a second. Her gaze flickering to her staff. It leaned against the stone wall, several feet of reach.

"Don't try it, mage. One step and I slit her throat," the elf snarled.

Marna made a strangled noise of fear, shivering and tearing up. She did not want to die.

"It's alright. It's fine," Lavellan said, voice soft and even. She slowly placed the folded messages back on her desk. She held her hands up, hoping to calm the elf. "I won't move. Please, just let Marna go," she said in the same even tone. She met the assassin's eyes, studying him.

"So she can bring soldiers to deal with me? No," the elf said with a huff in a gravely, angry voice. Marna couldn't help whimpering at that. She closed her eyes, expecting the dagger to drag across her throat any second.

"Please, don't hurt her," Lavellan was saying, a hint of pleading in her voice. "Fenris, right? Please, don't." Marna opened her eyes again, watching the Inquisitor. Maybe she could actually talk him into releasing her?

The assassin stiffened. "How do you know my name?" he demanded. Marna felt the dagger push a little harder into her throat.

"I-I read Varric's book. I recognize you from that – an elf with white hair, the lyrium tattoos…" Lavellan trailed off. Maybe this had been the wrong direction to take this.

"The dwarf's book. The one about Hawke," Fenris snarled. "The woman _you_ killed." The accusation in his voice was as sharp as his dagger.

Lavellan met Fenris's angry gaze. She nodded slowly, solemnly . "Yes. But Marna had nothing to do with that. She wasn't even at Adamant," she said quietly. Her heart beat rapidly, and she had to consciously keep herself from moving forward or drawing magic forth. She couldn't risk angering Fenris, not with Marna in danger.

"You care so much for her? A favorite _pet_?" Fenris replied with a cruel sneer. "Perhaps I should kill her now, so you can suffer a bit before I kill _you_."

"You're here to avenge Hawke. I understand that." Lavellan's eyes flickered between Fenris and Marna. "But surely she wouldn't want you to hurt an innocent person to do it. I'm begging you, let Marna leave unharmed, and you can have your chance at me." Marna saw the grim look on her face, as Lavellan stared steadily at the assassin still holding her firmly.

There was a pause, before Fenris spoke through gritted teeth. "No, she would not approve." His grip on Marna slacked, and the dagger left her throat. Marna fell to her knees, weak with relief.

"In… Inquisitor," she hiccupped, hands wiping at the tears in her eyes. "I'm so sorry. I… I shouldn't have – "

"Marna," Lavellan said, cutting her off with a firm, quiet voice. "Look at me, Marna."

Marna looked up at the Inquisitor through teary eyes, guilt already coloring her cheeks. She had put the Inquisitor in danger, and now she had saved her.

"You did nothing wrong. Understand?" Lavellan said firmly, eyes locked with Marna's. At Marna's small nod, she continued. "I need you to leave, alright?"

Marna glanced back and up at Fenris. The elf was sneering, watching the Inquisitor. "B-but… Inquisitor…," she stammered, looking back to Lavellan. How could she leave her to face this danger alone? But then, what help would she be?

"Now, Marna. Go downstairs," Lavellan said, more authority in her voice.

With a shaky breath and a nod, Marna scrambled up and back to the stairs. She glanced back one final time. Fenris removed his cloak with a jerk, dagger in hand, glaring at the Inquisitor. Lavellan met his gaze, hands lowered slightly. Marna turned away, slammed through the door, and ran down the stairs.

"Hawke was always concerned with the innocent, with those caught up in danger," Fenris said. "You, however, are no innocent," He snarled angrily, lifting the dagger.

"I'm sure it's worth nothing to you, but I _am_ sorry about Hawke," Lavellan said, then sighed. "And for this."

With that, Lavellan swung her arms forward, a blast of lighting shooting from her hands toward Fenris. The elf dodged, and launched himself at Lavellan.

* * *

Varric shuffled the papers before him, brow furrowed. "Now where did that tavern scene get to?"

Cassandra blushed slightly, handing over the pages she had been engrossed in. He smiled. "So what do think? It needs to be a strong scene, since that's where the romance starts." Varric chuckled inwardly. He still found it amusing that the Seeker enjoyed romance and smut.

"It is… interesting," Cassandra answered. "But would no one find it odd for a noble to be meeting with a known mercenary in such a public place?"

"Ha, I guess you've never been to The Hanged Man," Varric laughed. He glanced over the papers, half-listening to the noble women walking by. Apparently they didn't know that whispering only drew more attention.

"Do you think he was Dalish? They wear tattoos, do they not?" the one in a pink and yellow dress asked.

The other, in green, fanned herself. "I believe they only tattoo their faces. I have never seen one with them only on the neck and arms."

"Perhaps they cover more than the neck and arms," Pink-and-yellow giggled. "I would like to see if they continue under that black armor."

Green didn't approve, evidently. "Such bawdiness! And about an elf! Did you not see the white hair? He must be much too old for you, anyway."

Varric sat up straight. They couldn't be talking about… no, he was way up north. Varric remembered the letter he had sent to him, about Hawke. He wouldn't…

"Oh, surely you are curious as well," Pink-and-yellow huffed. "He looked so… exotic!"

Varric hesitated a moment, before pushing back his chair and standing. He was certainly curious. With a growing sense of dread, he approached the chatting women.

"Good morning, Ladies," he said, giving them a charming smile.

Green seemed unimpressed, looking at the dwarf with distain. Then Pink-and-yellow grabbed her arm. "Oh, it's Serah Tethras! The author!" she exclaimed giddily. Green relaxed into a surprised smile.

"I most certainly am," Varric replied, giving a small bow. "I overheard you talking, and was curious. This elf you saw, was he scowling? Would you maybe describe him as broody?"

Green touched the tip of her fan to her lips. "Well, he was certainly frowning. But servants do a lot of that, no?"

"So he's a servant?" Varric asked. Maybe this was just a coincidence?

"I did not ask," Green huffed.

"He must be. He was with that elf girl. You know, the Inquisitor's favorite," Pink-and-yellow added. "Why else would they go to the Inquisitor's quarters? She usually greets any important guests here in the Great Hall."

The dread almost choked Varric. "Thank you ladies. Have a pleasant day," he managed to say lightly, then turning back to the table. They walked off, whispering again. Something about the strange elf maybe being the Inquisitor's lover. Varric huffed, glancing at Solas.

"Something wrong, Varric?" Cassandra asked, frowning.

Varric hesitated, leaning his hands against the table. "I don't know," he said finally. "But I think we should check on Lavellan."

"If you know something, Varric ...," Cassandra said as she stood, steel in her voice and hand on her sword.

Varric held up his hands. "I'm not sure, okay? Just, come with me… She might be in danger," he answered, his voice low. He glanced at Solas, who had also stood.

"Then let us move with haste," Solas said.

The three stalked quickly toward the door that led to the Inquisitor's quarters. As they neared, Marna burst through the door, stumbling as she tripped over her own feet. Cassandra caught her, gripping her shoulders.

"Marna! What happened?" she demanded, noticing the tears on her cheeks, and the thin line of blood on her throat.

"The Inquisitor! She… she…," Marna cried, choking on her tears.

"Be calm, da'len," Solas said, softly but urgently. "Is she in danger?"

Marna nodded vigorously. "An assassin! He's in there with her! Help her, please!" Her strangled shout had caught the attention of nearby guests.

"Shit," Varric said, momentarily frozen.

"Tell the commander, quickly!" Cassandra ordered Marna as she pushed the elf aside.

The three launched themselves through the door, racing up the stairs toward Lavellan's quarters. Solas cursed himself for not having his staff, and Cassandra drew her sword as they ran.

"Varric, what do you know?" Cassandra demanded.

"I think…," Varric started. "Shit. I think it might be Fenris."

"The Champion's lover? The elf?" Cassandra, surprised for a moment. Then her lips settled into a determined frown.

"Quickly! Before we are too late!" Solas said, though there was no need. The other two could hear the desperate fear in his voice.

From what Varric knew of Fenris's skills, and anger, he feared what they would find.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

**Author's note:** Hello again! Left you guys on a bit of a cliff-hanger last chapter, didn't I? :D Thanks so much to everyone for the reviews, favorites, and follows! Hope you enjoy this chapter!

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Dragon Age nor receive any money for writing about it.

* * *

Solas, Cassandra, and Varric could hear the sounds of a fight as they neared the top of the stairs.

_They're both still alive,_ Varric thought with relief._ We just have to stop them before someone dies_.

The three slammed through the doorway into Lavellan's quarters, pounding up the last of the stairs. The room was in shambles – things covered in ice, smoldering with fire, or scorched by lighting. Several glass windows were blown out, papers were scattered, and books had been knocked from the shelves. A bloodied dagger lay abandoned near the bed, and the Inquisitor's staff lay broken in half near the desk. None of them noticed this, though, their focus drawn immediately to the two combatants.

Fenris had Lavellan pinned on her back beneath him, one gauntleted hand squeezing around her throat. Lavellan gripped this arm with one hand, attempting to freeze it with an ice spell, but she was weakening. She raised the other hand to blast Fenris in the face with more ice. He used his free hand to grab her wrist and slam it down on the stone floor.

"Inquisitor!" Cassandra shouted as she reached the top of the stairs, sword ready.

"Fenris!" Varric shouted.

Fenris's eyes flickered over to the three advancing into the room then immediately back to Lavellan. He let go of her wrist, raising his hand. He activated his lyrium markings and drove his hand down to, _into_, Lavellan's chest.

A blast of force magic from Solas hit him, throwing him off Lavellan and sending him slamming into the desk. Solas ran forward, dropping to his knees at Lavellan's side. Cassandra rapidly advanced on Fenris as he pulled himself into a seated position. Cassandra's sword point was at his throat before he could rise.

Solas looked over Lavellan quickly, taking stock of her injuries. Several cuts slashed through her sleeves where she must have tried to block attacks. Blood soaked her clothing at her abdomen. Red had just started welling weakly from her neck, where Fenris's gauntlet had sliced the skin when he was thrown by Solas's attack. What concerned him most, however, was the blood seeping rapidly from her chest, over her heart. Lavellan held shaking hands to the wound, small sparks of blue emitting from them as she tried to cast a healing spell. She made a low gurgling noise as blood began running from between her lips.

_Blood in her lungs,_ Solas thought. He pulled her up nearly to a seated position, to help her breathe, supporting her back with one knee. He knew the damage must be extensive, both from her pale appearance and the blood soaking the rug around her.

Lavellan looked up at him, hands still shaking over the chest wound. Her eyes were wide, bright with fear and pain. He pried her hands away and ripped through the top few buttons of her blouse to get a better look at the chest wound. Five holes, situated slightly to the left of center and between her collar bone and breast band, where Fenris's fingers had nearly succeeded in removing her heart. Judging it to be the worst wound, Solas placed his hand over it and began channeling healing magic to it as he watched her face. Her eyes were becoming dull, her lids beginning to close over them. Her skin was pale from blood loss. Her head began to lull back.

"_Ellana_," he all but shouted in alarm. He supported her head with his free hand, staring into her eyes. "_Please_, vhenan. Hold on." His tone and expression held a tumult of emotion – desperation to save her, fear of her death, denial that such a thing could happen – as he all but begged her to live. The blue healing magic grew brighter.

At Solas's words, Cassandra glanced back at him. Fenris took the chance and began to rise, when Varric grabbed his shoulders and pushed him back down.

"Fenris. Shit, just stay down!" Varric yelled, still gripping his shoulders. Fenris was covered in his own share of wounds. Burns and frostbite decorated his skin and scorched across his armor, blood dripping through his hair from a head wound. Varric stared at him, horrified at what he had done, but also concerned for his friend's injuries. "Fenris, you bastard, what are you doing?!" Varric shook his shoulders.

"If she dies, I will run you through myself!" Cassandra declared, her sword point threateningly close to Fenris's neck.

Fenris was paying no attention to either of them. He looked past them, at Solas holding Lavellan and trying to heal her. He had heard Solas's words. He could see how he was looking at her with desperation stemming from something more than friendship.

How _dare_ she have someone to love when she had stolen Hawke from him.

With a snarl of rage borne of loss, Fenris knocked Varric aside and launched himself toward Solas and Lavellan. Cassandra brought the pommel of her sword down hard on his head, sending him crashing to the ground and into unconsciousness.

Varric scrambled back to his feet. "No! You might have killed him!" his anger rising through his shock at seeing his long-time friend sprawled on the ground. The Seeker was after his friends _again._ He pushed past Cassandra to make sure Fenris was still breathing.

"He nearly ripped the Inquisitor's heart from her chest, and your concern is for _him_?" Cassandra demanded incredulously.

Varric jerked his hand at Solas, glaring back at Cassandra. "Well so did he, and I don't see you knocking _him_ out!" he lashed out recklessly, spitefully.

"_What?_" Cassandra's glare turned toward Solas as the elf flinched but said nothing. Had he injured the Inquisitor?

Realizing what he had just said, Varric smacked his hand to his head and waved the other dismissively. "Shit. No. I shouldn't have said that. I meant, figuratively," he said, stumbling through the explanation. "Just, sorry, Solas. Just forget it. " He took a step toward Solas and Lavellan, but realized there was nothing he could do to help. Varric sighed in defeat, all his energy and anger drained away. He sat back on the floor, feeling empty and heavy at the same time.

"Then now is not the time to discuss such nonsense!" Cassandra shouted, her anger very much still burning hot. "Do you not realize how serious this is?!"

"I'm sorry!" Varric shouted. He rubbed his face with one hand. "Shit… just… shit."

Cassandra made a noise of fury. She stormed to the window and cut the rope meant to hold back the curtain. She returned to Fenris, binding his hands tightly behind his back. Varric watched with a distant gaze, but didn't move.

A rage of footsteps clamored up the steps and into the room. Cullen, Leliana, and four Inquisition soldiers charged in, swords drawn. Cullen took in the scene with the eye of a commander used to quickly assessing a battlefield.

"Cassandra, what happened?" He lowered his sword slightly as he saw no immediate threat. "Is the Inquisitor…?" he began to ask, his gaze resting on Solas and the woman in his arms.

Cassandra also looked to Solas. She stayed next to Fenris, sword ready should he awaken. "Solas. Will she live?" she asked tentatively.

The holes in her chest finally sealed, Solas ripped through the last of the buttons on her blouse to get to the abdominal wound. The puncture, likely from a dagger, still leaked blood. He directed healing magic to it, repairing the internal damage. He looked back at her face. Her eyes were half-closed, and her breathing ragged. _So pale._

"I… am unsure," he answered, his voice cracking. "I cannot replace the blood she has lost."

"Maker's breath," Cullen said, his tone strained.

"And that is the assassin?" Leliana asked, nodding at Fenris.

"Is that… one of the Champion's companions?" Cullen added, recognition dawning.

Cassandra nodded. "Apparently so."

"Standing here will not help her. I will find another healer to aid Solas," Leliana said, eyes flashing. She disappeared down the stairs.

"Maker's breath," Cullen said again. "You four. Lock him up in our sturdiest cell for now," he snapped to the soldiers. "If… _when_ the Inquisitor is healed, she will want to deal with him herself."

"Use the shackles meant for mages," Cassandra instructed, referring to the shackles designed to block magic. "They should keep the lyrium markings under control."

Cullen nodded as the soldiers moved to Fenris. He saw the look on one's face as he looked at the injured Inquisitor before turning to the prisoner. He could understand the soldier's feelings. This elf had tried to kill their leader, and the injuries he had inflicted might do just that. He sensed the soldiers might not follow orders to keep the elf alive. He glanced at Lavellan, at the bloodied rug, before speaking.

"On second thought, I will join you," Cullen ordered, sheathing his sword.

Varric looked back and forth between Lavellan and Fenris as Cullen and one of the soldiers took him under the arms and dragged him out. One friend dying, another likely to face execution. Andraste's ass, he was tired of seeing his friends in such danger. Surely he could have prevented this…

Cassandra paced, pointedly ignoring Varric, sword still in hand at her side. She could do nothing to help Solas, nothing to help save their leader. They needed her, the entire Inquisition and even all of Thedas needed her. Maker have mercy, what would they do if she died? Finally, she sheathed her sword and turned her attention to stomping out the smoldering remains of a rug.

A tense few minutes passed with only the sound of Solas's healing magic humming in the air. Dorian and Vivienne arrived, staffs in hand. They were followed by Josephine, who walked in tentatively. She gasped at the sight of the Inquisitor, her hand rising to her lips.

Dorian swore in Tevine, kneeling at Lavellan's other side. He saw the tortured twist in Solas's expression, the protective way he pulled Lavellan toward him. He looked over the Inquisitor, noting the dagger wound Solas was healing. He leaned to the side, checking Lavellan's back.

"The blade must have gone all the way through," he said, a hard edge to his voice. "There's a wound on her back as well." His eyes flickered to Solas, as if seeking permission to help. At the elf's small nod, he placed his hand over the wound in the small of her back and cast a healing spell.

Vivienne was not a healer, but she placed her hand gently on Solas's shoulder so the elf could draw more power from her. Solas nodded his thanks, and his healing spell grew brighter, the hum louder.

Josephine looked pale, face twisted with worry. She was not used to such a sight, to so much blood and injury. Hugging her arms to herself, she went to stand by Cassandra. "Lady Lavellan… what will we do if…?" she whispered, unable to finish the thought.

Cassandra shook her head. "It will not come to that." The slight shake in her voice revealed her own fear.

Cole appeared suddenly, down on one knee, situated at Lavellan's bare feet. "Can see it in his face. The fear. I feel it, too. I can feel me, fading, fast. Have to fight. Always fight," he said, watching Lavellan's half-closed eyes.

"Get back, demon," Vivienne hissed.

Cole leaned back a bit, then turned his head to look at Solas. "Her will is still strong. She does not want to leave you, or any of us," he said, rising. Lavellan needed no encouragement from him.

"Thank you, Cole," Solas murmured, his attention still on Lavellan. It was a good sign she still had the will to live, the will to fight.

Cole sat on the floor next to Varric. He studied the dwarf for a moment, then placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. He said nothing though, as the dwarf was not ready for words. Varric patted his hand briefly, then returned to anxiously watching the healers.

The abdominal wound healed at the front and the back, Solas moved to heal the shallow cut to her throat. Dorian used a small blade to cut away the fabric of her sleeve, then went to work healing the slices on her arm. Her breathing was better, if still quick and shallow.

Cullen reappeared. He moved around the mages, watching with a grim look on his face.

"Iron Bull and his Chargers have agreed to guard Fenris, and have their healer patch him up," he explained quietly to Cassandra. She nodded. Iron Bull and his men would keep anyone from harming the prisoner.

"Skyhold is in lockdown. We will check every person here to be sure he had no accomplices. Blackwall is helping at the gate, and Leliana is getting the herbalist," Cullen continued, voice low.

Cassandra nodded again. "Hopefully she has something to help with the blood loss."

"And that Sera is pacing downstairs. She's got an arrow ready and is threatening anyone trying to enter these quarters," Cullen continued, rubbing the back of his neck. "I am unsure if she is being protective, or is simply afraid to come up here."

"It is not a sight many would wish to see," Cassandra remarked. "What of the Inquisitor's maidservant, Marna?" she asked, remembering the frightened elf.

"I do not know. I have not seen her since she found us in the War Room." Cullen frowned. "Could she have been part of this? Led Fenris here?"

"It is possible," Cassandra allowed. " But perhaps it was unwillingly."

The Inquisitor coughed, drawing everyone's attention. She drew in a sharp breath, eyes flying fully open and looking around wildly. She gripped Solas's shirt with a bloody hand, then tried to pull herself up.

"Be still, vhenan," Solas said tenderly, the endearment slipping out. She relaxed back again, though out of weakness instead of conscious decision.

Lavellan's eyes locked with Solas's gaze. "Solas," she breathed, recognition lighting her eyes.

"And don't forget your dear friend, Dorian," the human mage said, half-heartedly keeping his tone light. Cassandra, Cullen, and Josephine moved closer, a flicker of tentative hope growing amongst the group. Varric and Cole stayed where they were.

Lavellan's eyes flicked toward Dorian. "I'm… alive?" she asked, as if she wasn't sure she believed it.

He laughed. "It would appear so. You gave your elf there quite a fright," he said, inclining his head toward Solas. "Not me, of course. I had complete confidence in your stubborn refusal to give up."

The Inquisitor blinked, lips lifting at the corner briefly. "Was anyone hurt? Is Marna alright?" Her voice grew quieter – speaking seemed to be sapping what strength she had.

"Do not concern yourself, my dear," Vivienne said over Solas's shoulder. "You were the only one injured. And it appears you put up quite a fight, looking at your poor destroyed quarters." Vivienne smiled slightly. "I would expect nothing less from our Inquisitor."

Lavellan nodded, closing her eyes once she heard no one else had been harmed. Her muscles stiffened and eyes snapped open as she remembered. "And Fenris?"

"The elf is still alive. He's secured in the dungeon, Inquisitor," Cullen answered.

Lavellan frowned, remembering. She looked down at her chest, her blouse still open. Her hand moved to the freshly scarred place over her heart. "He… he nearly…," Lavellan trailed off. She shuddered.

"We have managed to heal your injuries, Ellana," Solas said gently. Her eyes moved back to Solas's face. "And you are conscious and talking now, so I believe you will recover." His slight smile disappeared. "But you lost quite a lot of blood. You will be weak for a long while."

Lavellan tried to smile. Her skin was still pale, clammy. "Better than dead," she said off-handedly. She sighed, closing her eyes for a moment. When she opened them again, she was serious. She moved her hand to rest against Solas's chest. "Ma serannas," she said. Her eyes flickered to the others leaning over her. "Thank you, all of you. Thank you for my life."


	4. Chapter 4

Marna sat in the corner of the War Room, hugging her knees to her chest. She rocked herself slightly as she finally began gaining control over her crying. One hand pressed against the shallow cut on her throat, though the bleeding had already stopped.

She didn't know what to do. She had done as the Seeker said, running to the War Room and alerting the advisers. Once the three had rushed out, she had sunk into the corner, fully overcome with tears. It was too much for her to handle – the terror, guilt, and a twinge of relief at still being alive twisted in her gut.

"Are you alright, Marna?"

Marna looked up quickly, fearfully. She calmed slightly, seeing Sister Leliana crouching in front of her. She looked concerned, and had spoken softly. Marna started to nod, then shook her head. How could she be alright, after what she had been through and what she had done? It was treasonous, wasn't it, her putting the Inquisitor in danger?

"You have been through something terrible, Marna. I am sorry it happened," Leliana said, her voice comforting.

Marna bowed her head to her knees. She didn't deserve to be comforted. "The Herald… I left her alone… with him," she choked out.

"We stopped him, and healers are seeing to the Inquisitor now," Leliana said, placing a hand on Marna's knee. "She is quite a strong person, and her injuries were minor. She will be fine," Leliana said, purposely lying about the extent of Lavellan's injuries. And she herself did not yet know if Lavellan would live. She needed to gauge Marna's reaction, to help her decide if she was involved in the assassination attempt.

"Really?" Marna breathed, managing to smile and look up at Leliana. Her smile faltered. "I… I need to apologize to her. I should not have left her alone! I shouldn't even have led him to her room!"

Leliana withdrew her hand, but managed to keep her expression one of concern and understanding. She must assess the risk this woman posed.

"Marna, please. I need you to calm down. I need your help, before you see the Herald, alright?" Leliana said. At Marna's nod, she continued. "Can you tell me what happened? How he got in?"

"I didn't see him get into Skyhold. But, he… he told the cook, he said he was one of the men who delivered the supplies this morning," Marna said, frowning as she tried to recall the details. "I didn't see him, until… by the stables…" Marna shuddered, reliving the moment her nightmare had begun. With Leliana's encouragement, she continued her story.

"And… and he let me go. She did it, she got him to let me go," Marna said, lip trembling as she remembered. "And you know what she told me? She said I didn't do anything wrong, then told me to leave. She _saved_ me, and she didn't blame me for leading him in," Marna explained, her tone incredulous. She looked down at her hands. "But it was wrong, wasn't it? She was just being nice, since I was scared. I should… I should have let him kill me, instead of letting him hurt the Inquisitor. That would've been the right thing," she admitted, voice quiet and trembling, betraying how terrifying such a thought was to her.

"The Inquisitor is an important woman," Leliana said. "She is kindhearted, and always wants to protect all of us. But all of Thedas needs her, Marna. We of the Inquisition must do everything possible to help her," Leliana said. Marna nodded. "That means we must be prepared to lay down our lives for her. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Sister Nightingale," Marna said, nodding vigorously. "I'll… I'll do whatever I can, to make it right," she said, her voice determined.

Leliana smiled slightly. "Good, I believe you, Marna. Now, do you think you can go to the Inquisitor's quarters? I'm sure the herbalist could use your help. Have her bandage the cut on your neck, as well."

Marna agreed, scrambling up and out of the room. Leliana stood a moment, before following her out. She needed to find the rest of these delivery men.

* * *

A blackwing perched on the railing of the balcony, watching the scene in Lavellan's quarters. It hopped down and toward the open doorway, flapping its wings a few times. With a poof of purple smoke, Morrigan appeared in its place, drawing the attention of those in the room.

"It seems I am unneeded," she mused as she entered the room, taking in the scene. Solas still held Lavellan and Dorian crouched beside them, Vivienne standing nearby. Morrigan could sense the exhaustion in the mages and the lingering mark of healing magic on the Inquisitor. The healing must have been draining. "Your injuries must have been extensive, Inquisitor, if the weakened state of your friends is evidence," she said, coming to a stop next to the displaced desk.

"I'm certain I would have died without their help, Lady Morrigan," Lavellan managed, trying once again to pull herself up. The motion caused her to gasp in pain. The wounds were healed, but she would still feel their effects for some time to come. Solas's arms immediately moved to support her as she caught her breath.

"How did you know about this? Why did you come?" Cassandra asked, suspicious as always.

Morrigan frowned. "Tis no reason for suspicion, Seeker. Leliana alerted me on the way through the garden to find the herbalist. She thought I might offer my aid. And, should you not be focused on the would-be assassin?"

"He's already been captured," Cullen said stiffly. Perhaps it was the ex-Templar in him, but the witch put him on edge.

"So on top of things, I see," Morrigan said, smiling slightly. "Perhaps now you should assure the Inquisition that their leader still lives? 't would harm morale for them to think otherwise, would it not?" she suggested, looking back at Lavellan.

Lavellan nodded. "True. I may need help getting downstairs, though."

Cassandra moved her hands in a dismissive gesture. "Absolutely not. You are in no condition to do anything but rest."

"Come now, Cassandra. The people need to know their symbol has survived yet again," Lavellan answered, attempting at levity though she just sounded exhausted.

"My dear Seeker," Vivienne said. "We must not let anyone know how close a thing this was. The Inquisitor must appear always strong, undefeatable."

"So we should risk her health, to keep up appearances?" Cullen said, exasperated. "Her wounds are barely closed! Besides, she is likely to faint if she pushes too hard, and what would that do for appearances?"

"She could appear on the balcony," Josephine suggested. "The people will be able to see she is well, but with the distance they will not be able to guess at her injuries."

"Tis a fair compromise," Morrigan said with a nod. She turned, taking several steps out onto the balcony.

Cullen sighed. "Fine. I can see you are determined. Give me time, and I will see the people gathered below. We still need to check for any accomplices, so seeing people's reactions to you still living may provide clues."

"There is already quite a crowd, Commander," Morrigan said, looking over the railing at the people on the battlements and in the courtyard below.

Cullen went to stand beside her. "Maker's breath. Word must have spread quickly indeed."

Morrigan nodded toward the blown out windows. "Or, 't was the sight of spells shooting from her quarters that alerted them all was not well."

Cullen sighed, then stalked back into the room. "Alright. Allow me a few minutes to confer with Leliana, and make sure we have people watching the crowd."

"Of course, Cullen," Lavellan said. "I…I think I need a moment, as it is." This drew attention back to her. She was pale, clammy, and her breathing was labored. One hand gripped Solas's shoulder tightly, both in pain and to help her remain sitting upright.

"You do not need to do this, Ellana," Solas said quietly. "The people can wait." He used a sleeve to gently wipe away the blood by her lips. She looked in his eyes, and he held her gaze as she considered.

Lavellan broke eye contact and shook her head slightly. "I don't want people to worry."

Dorian stood, giving Lavellan a disapproving look. "And what of your friends? Bloody selfish, I say, making _us_ worry."

Lavellan tried to wave one hand dismissively, but it fell limply to her lap. "Apologies. But it will only take a moment."

"Tis settled, then," Morrigan said. "I suggest we join the crowd, to aid the commander in his search."

"I will stay," Cassandra said. "She will need help reaching even the balcony in this state." Dorian volunteered as well. Solas said nothing, but all knew he would stay.

A moment passed after the others left. Lavellan closed her eyes. Taking a deep breath, she opened them again, looking at Solas. "I may… I think I… need your help, to stand up," she said, sounding slightly embarrassed. She was not used to needing so much help, especially from someone who had recently left her standing alone and confused in a grotto. She had spoken to him little the past few days, much less been held closely to him like this.

"Of course," Solas answered. "Are you ready?"

Lavellan gripped his shoulder with one hand, and his offered hand with the other. Dorian hovered close by. At Lavellan's nod, Solas stood slowly, bringing her to her feet. He could feel her muscles strain as she tried to hold herself up. With a strangled sound of pain she fell against him, her body limp. Solas gripped her tightly to his chest to keep her from falling, Dorian stepping forward and placing his hands supportively against her back.

"That damned herbalist is certainly taking her time," Dorian muttered.

Lavellan's hands twisted into Solas's shirt, her eyes opening again. "I think…I blacked out… for a second," she managed through gritted teeth, her breathing ragged. "You weren't kidding, about the feeling weak part."

"It's alright. Take a moment, catch your breath," Solas said gently. But Cassandra and Dorian could see his severe frown over Lavellan's head.

"Ah, my clothes," Lavellan said, looking down at her bloodied, ripped-open blouse. "Cassandra? My coat should be on the chair. By my desk." Her eyes closed as she spoke, as if keeping them open and speaking at the same time was too much.

Cassandra retrieved the long leather coat quickly. She and Dorian helped Lavellan into it, one arm at a time, as Solas supported her. The whole affair took more out of Lavellan than she would admit.

"You should sit, so I can do up the buttons," Cassandra suggested, though more because she wanted Lavellan to rest. She dragged a chair over, and Lavellan would have simply fallen into it without Solas's gentle guidance. Solas released her as she sat, no longer touching her for the first time since entering the room. A renewed sense of anxiety settled over him. Lavellan slumped back, breathing labored, eyes closed. Cassandra crouched before her to button the coat, it's length covering the blood and damaged clothing.

A clatter as the door reopened made them look up. Dorian turned to situate himself between Lavellan and the door, drawing magic into his staff.

"Oh, no need for that," the elven herbalist, Elan, said, climbing the last of the stairs and entering the room. "Now, let me look at the patient." The three complied, moving aside. "And before you complain, I would have been here sooner. That strange elf, Sera. She wouldn't let me in," she explained, turning Lavellan's wrist to check her pulse. "She saw all these bottles, and accused me of trying to poison the Inquisitor. The very idea," she muttered, turning to her bag.

Cassandra made an exasperated sound, while Dorian chuckled. Solas only frowned, watching Lavellan's face. She opened her eyes again, catching him staring, but he didn't look away.

"We closed the wounds, repaired the damage, dear herbalist," Dorian said. "She just seems to be a bit under the weather, what with the massive blood loss and all."

The woman nodded. "Commander Cullen said as much, once he told that Sera to let me be. Drink this, Inquisitor," the herbalist said, uncorking an elfroot potion. "You'll need to drink plenty of fluids, to replace the lost blood volume. That will help with the faintness. Nothing I can do about the actual blood, though. That will be up to your body. The elfroot will help with any lingering damage, and aid your healing," she explained. Noticing the tremble in Lavellan's weak hands, she helped her drink the potion. "And I sent your maidservant to fetch water so we can clean you up. Hm, looks like your quarters could use some help, as well."

"Marna is alright, then?" Lavellan asked, slightly surprised. "She was terrified, with good reason. I would think she would need time."

Interesting, isn't it, how some people insist on helping even when they should be resting," Elan remarked, giving the Inquisitor a scolding glare. "But, I think helping will aid her own recovery. She is quite devoted to you, Inquisitor."

Cassandra returned from the balcony. "I can see Cullen. I believe they are ready, Inquisitor," she said, though her tight expression said she was still against the idea.

Lavellan took a deep breath, and her arms shook less as she held them out. "Alright, then," she said. Cassandra and Solas helped her from the chair, Dorian hovering closely. She managed to stumble onto the balcony, leaning heavily on their shoulders. She stopped at the center of the balcony. "I need to take the last steps myself," she said. Cassandra started to protest, but they all understood – their people needed to see her strong, not held up even to walk.

Solas and Cassandra slowly released her. She wobbled a bit, but managed the few steps to the railing. Leaning heavily on it with one arm, she raised the other, looking down at the crowd. Cheers rose as the crowd below saw her, their leader, not only alive but also indomitable.

* * *

Down in the dungeon, Fenris drifted slowly toward wakefulness.

"Wish you knew some healing spells," said Stitches, of Bull's Chargers. He was bandaging Fenris's arms and bare chest, alternating between poultices meant for burns and frostbite.

"Spells? I would have to be a mage to know such things," answered Dalish. "And we all know, I'm an archer, not an apostate."

Stitches grunted in reply. "We should get a mage healer to look at him. This is a lot of damage. I can't do much about the concussion, either."

Iron Bull laughed. "He did try to take on the boss. Surprised he's still breathing."

Fenris came awake, wild and confused, instincts taking over. He rose swiftly, grabbing the collar of the man before him and slamming him against the other wall of the cell. A punch from Iron Bull sent him sprawling sideways to the stone floor.

"Jumpy elf, isn't he," Iron Bull muttered. Stitches grunted, unimpressed, straightening out his tunic.

Fenris shook his head a few times, pushing himself up on his hands and knees. The shaking caused an explosion of pain. He tried to reach up with one hand to feel his head. His eyes widened, realizing his wrists were shackled together. Panic rising, he managed to stand up despite the throbbing pain in his head.

"_What_ is this?" he demanded.

"Settle down, Tats," Iron Bull said. "You tried to off the Inquisitor. Didn't go as planned."

The fight came back to Fenris. _Damn_. He had been _so close._ Fenris gritted his teeth, sizing up the Qunari before him. He would not stay here. He would not be a prisoner. He activated his lyrium markings. The attempt sent shockwaves of pain through his entire body. He gasped in pain, stumbling backwards to lean against the back wall of the cell.

"Heh, yeah. That's not going to work. We've got you in magic-restraining shackles. Looks like they work on the lyrium marks, too." Iron Bull said.

Fenris didn't reply, concentrating on breathing. He slid down the wall to sit on the floor. His whole body hurt, the wounds from his fight coming alive with red pain.

"So, this is how it's going to work, Tats. Try anything, and I don't save your sorry ass for the Inquisitor. You keep still, and my guy fixes you up. Deal?" Iron Bull said, watching Fenris closely.

Fenris glared at the Qunari for a moment. He looked down at the shackles, considering his situation. No weapons, not even his markings. At least three enemies, including a Qunari. Covered in injuries, and barely able to focus with the concussion.

"Agreed," Fenris finally said, through gritted teeth.

With a nod from Iron Bull, Stitches came forward with his bandages and poultices. After a moment's hesitation, Fenris accepted and drank the potion shoved into his hands. There was no reason to poison him at this point. After that, he let the healer work. He moved as he was told, but he wasn't really paying attention. He had to come up with a plan to escape. And get close to Lavellan again.


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's Note:**

Hello again! Thank you all sooo much for reading! I love every single review, follow, and favorite! Seeing all that makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside. :)

Sorry this chapter's a bit late, and it's a bit shorter than usual. I thought the next scene came out a little too long to include in this chapter, so it'll be the start of chapter 6!

Side note – do you guys think it would be giving too much away to list Fenris as one of the characters in the description? I mean, you do find out it's him pretty quickly, anyways, so maybe that would be okay?

* * *

Lavellan managed a few stumbling steps on her own across the balcony, back toward her quarters and out of sight of the crowds below. Solas caught her before she fell. Cassandra moved to help, but Solas immediately swept Lavellan up to carry her. Cassandra could see his exhaustion and thought of protesting, but stopped at the sight of his expression.

Solas's gaze was intent as he watched Ellana's face. Her eyes met his for only a moment, then fell shut. Her breathing was labored again, shallow. Beads of sweat stood out on her pale skin. Solas's mouth set in a firm line as he turned, carrying her back into her quarters. Cassandra and Dorian followed close behind, prepared to offer a steadying hand should he need it.

Elan, the herbalist, had moved the books and papers from the Inquisitor's desk to the floor beside it. She had set out various bottles, herbs, agents, and tools of her trade. "If she is quite finished with her little show, kindly return her to the chair, please," she said with a sniff of disapproval.

Solas did as she asked. Ellana opened her eyes briefly and ran a hand lightly down his arm as he set her down, a silent thanks. Solas inclined his head in understanding. Her eyes closed again and she slumped against the back of the chair, one hand gripping the fabric over her heart.

Solas lowered himself to one knee before her and touched her hand lightly. "Ellana," he said quietly. He received a forced "hm" in response. "Ellana," he said again, more firmly. She opened her eyes slightly, her gaze unfocused. "Are you in pain?" Solas asked. The wounds were healed, but the pain would linger. The constant sensation of a hand trying to rip her heart out must be excruciating. The blood loss, plus the exertion during the fight and just now to assure her people, made her condition worse.

"I… yes," Lavellan managed, her breathing still labored.

"Give me a moment," Elan said, mixing something at the desk. "I've something to put her to sleep."

Someone knocked softly at the door. Cassandra drew her sword, and Dorian retrieved his staff. Solas looked toward the door but stayed where he was, his grip increasing slightly on Lavellan's hand. Cassandra placed herself at the top of the stairs, sword ready. "Identify yourself," she ordered.

"M...Marna," came the startled reply.

Cassandra glanced at Dorian, who stood out of sight of the doorway. They were both thinking that Marna had already once led an assassin in. Dorian nodded once to Cassandra, and drew power into his staff, just in case. Cassandra turned back to watch the door. "Are you alone, Marna?" she asked.

"Y-yes, Seeker," Marna answered. Her guilt resurfaced as she realized why Cassandra would ask her this. She had betrayed their trust, so she surely deserved the suspicion. "Really, I swear it, in Andraste's name. It's just me," Marna added, more earnest.

"Enter," Cassandra ordered.

Marna pushed the door open slowly with a shoulder. She entered cautiously, carrying a basin, full water pitcher, and an armful of cloths. She nearly dropped everything as she caught sight of Cassandra, standing at the top of the stairs with sword drawn.

"The herbalist, she asked me to bring this…," Marna managed, withering under the Seeker's gaze, standing in the doorway. "I'm sorry, I just… came to help… if you'll allow it," she added quietly, looking down. Would she even be allowed to help, to try to make up for her mistake?

"Alright, Marna. Come up," Cassandra said. She lowered the sword point slightly and stepped to the side.

"Thank you," Marna responded, relieved. She climbed the stairs, noticing that Cassandra watched the doorway behind her. Once Marna had passed her, Cassandra descended the stairs to the open door, on guard as she looked for any signs of danger. Finding nothing, she closed the door, sheathed her sword, and returned to the room.

Marna stood just inside the room proper, her expression one of horror and surprise. The room was in shambles – broken windows, ice and scorch marks everywhere, books and papers scattered. Just beside her was the tray she had dropped earlier, tea spilled from the kettle, cup and saucer shattered. There were spots of what she assumed was blood scattered across the floor. An especially large amount of blood was soaked into one of the rugs. Marna's gaze found the Inquisitor, slumped in a chair with her eyes closed. She could see her chest heaving as she breathed.

Seeing the extent of damage, and an obviously unwell Inquisitor, made Marna tremble. Had Sister Leliana lied to her about the Inquisitor's wounds being minor? Why? To comfort her?

"I'm _so_ sorry," Marna whispered. This was her fault. If only she had –

"Stop babbling, girl," the herbalist said. "Set those down, and get fresh sheets on the bed. These are a tad singed," she instructed. She had picked up the dagger Fenris had used, examining it back at the desk.

Marna nodded, doing as she was bid. It was her fault, certainly, but she would do what she could to make up for it. She set the supplies down and entered the small storage room off to the side of the bed to find new sheets.

Elan held the dagger out from her with one hand, and poured a solution from a bottle onto the blade with the other hand. The solution ran over the blade, mixing with the blood on it and dripping to the rug below. Elan nodded to herself, satisfied. "He did not use poison, at least. Else it would have caused a bubbling," she explained. "One less worry," she said, placing the dagger on the desk.

"Mighty thoughtful assassin, then," Dorian said with a light tone but no smile.

As Marna prepared the bed, the herbalist approached Lavellan with a freshly mixed potion.

"What is it?" Cassandra asked, tone distrustful. The red elfroot potion she had recognized, but this new potion was unfamiliar.

Elan frowned. "A sleeping draught, Seeker. Or would you rather she remain awake and in pain?"

Cassandra crossed her arms, but did not respond. Elan turned back to the Inquisitor. Solas looked at her, holding out a hand for the cup. The herbalist huffed, but handed it to him. His expression left no room for argument. "Here, then. She must drink it all," she instructed. She returned to the desk, leaving Solas to do as she said.

Solas dipped a fingertip into the cup then pressed it against his tongue. After a moment's consideration, he nodded to Cassandra, confirming it was as the herbalist said.

"Ellana," Solas said quietly, lightly placing his hand once more on one of hers. Her eyes opened slightly again, flickering from their touching hands to Solas's face. "This will help you sleep. Your body needs rest to heal."

Lavellan hesitated a moment, processing his words. Her mind felt foggy. She nodded finally, giving the permission Solas had sought. With his help she managed to drink the potion.

"Well then. If I am to do my job properly now, you men need to leave," Elan said, arms crossed. "Seeker, if you would stay. We will need your help to move her to the bed once we've cleaned her up. Marna, the water, if you please."

Cassandra nodded in agreement. Finished with the bed and hearing Elan's instructions, Marna retrieved the basin and water pitcher from where she had set them down by the small sofa. She hesitated, waiting respectfully for the others to move away from Lavellan.

Dorian gently patted Lavellan's shoulder. "Well then, try not to die while we're gone. We would certainly notice your absence," he said, though it came out less cheery than his usual similar statements. Solas stayed where he was a moment longer, watching as the sleeping draught began to take effect and Lavellan's hand dropped from her heart to her lap. He gave her other hand a small squeeze then stood.

Lavellan raised that hand slightly from the arm of the chair, catching Solas's hand. He could have easily pulled from her loose grasp, but did not.

"Solas," she said, speaking without opening her eyes. "Would you… Fenris. Would you heal him…," the request came out in little more than a croak as she fought against the growing drowsiness.

The request stilled Solas. Healing was not what he had in mind for the would-be assassin.

Dorian made a noise of disbelief. "You want the bastard who tried to kill you healed? Did he hit your head as well?"

"I owe Hawke that much," Lavellan managed. "Please."

"As you wish," Solas said, though his voice was cold. "Now, Ellana, rest."

Lavellan sighed, slipping into sleep. Feeling her weak grip go limp, Solas moved his hand from under hers.

"You can't be serious," Dorian baulked.

"Do as she asked. It will likely take the both of you," Cassandra said, thinking of the power the two had expended in healing Lavellan. "Even though we certainly do not agree, she is the Inquisitor."

"She's in no condition to be giving orders, which I say is grounds for ignoring the stupid ones," Dorian responded.

"I believe I asked you men to leave," Elan said before Cassandra could respond, tone leaving no room for discussion. "Do as your leader said, or take the argument elsewhere."

Dorian sighed, unhappy. "Fine then. Come along, Solas. Can't have you fawning over her while the herbalist is trying to work," he said, moving to the stairs. With one more look at Lavellan, Solas followed.

Marna moved to the Inquisitor's side, setting the basin on the floor and pouring in the water. Elan began undoing the buttons of the Inquisitor's jacket and Marna retrieved the cloths so Elan could clean the wounds. Cassandra hovered by the stairs. She would act as guard and protector, as well as aiding them.

Marna thought as she helped, handing Elan clean wet cloths and taking the discarded bloody ones from her. How could the Inquisitor be so merciful as to want that man healed? From all the blood, the fight must have been terrible, and Marna was realizing how extensive the wounds he had inflicted must have been. Wouldn't a normal person want such a person to suffer? She looked at Lavellan's sleeping face with wonder. _She truly is the Herald of Andraste, to give mercy to the undeserving_.


	6. Chapter 6

Dorian closed the door to Lavellan's quarters behind him. He had to take a few quick steps down the stairs to catch up with Solas.

"Off to the dungeon then," Dorian grumbled, obviously disapproving. He fell into step beside Solas, staff tapping each stair as they went.

Solas shook his head. "No. I'll go alone."

Dorian stopped, giving Solas a baulking look. "You're kidding aren't you? After all the magic you just used to heal Ellana, it will take the two of us together to heal Mr. Assassin."

Solas paused only briefly before continuing his descent. "I've lyrium potions, and I'll stop for my staff," he said, voice dark.

Dorian caught up again at one of the landings. He grabbed Solas by the shoulder, forcing the elf to stop and face him. "Solas. You're not the only one who wants a few _words_ with this Fenris. If you are planning something other than healing, I am quite willing to help."

Solas's anger had spiked at Dorian stopping him, but faded at the sight of Dorian's expression. He was upset, jaw set and eyes fiery.

"You are proposing we harm him? You would go against her orders?" Solas asked, mildly surprised and curious. Ellana had referred to him before as a loyal friend – would he truly act contrary to her wishes?

"I consider one person my friend in all of Thedas. This Fenris character nearly killed her. It would only be proper to show him the same curtesy," Dorian said vehemently.

A memory came to Solas unbidden. His friend, the spirit of Wisdom, dead. He had been blinded by fury, sorrow. As he had turned on the mages responsible, he had seen Ellana from the corner of his eye. She had reached out, as if to stop him. But she had pulled her hand back to her side, and allowed him to kill the mages.

He had lost a dear friend, and she had allowed him vengeance.

Did he not owe her the same? Should he exact justice in her name, even if she had expressed mercy?

Looking away from Dorian, Solas shook his head. "No. I will do as she asked."

Solas only made it down another step, when Dorian stepped in front of him and held up an arm, blocked his way. "You can't be serious!" Dorian hissed. "Why would you not want the man who harmed her dead? She would certainly see any who harmed you, or any of us for that matter, dead! Likely by her own hands! Are you not the one _in love_ with her?!" The last line came out as an accusation.

Solas had met Dorian's gaze through the tirade, but at the last question he had looked away. "The Inquisitor and I are no longer… involved," he stated, managing to keep his voice from betraying anything else.

Dorian pulled back in surprise, grabbing the handrail before he tripped on the stairs. "_What?_"

"As… a friend, I will do as she asked. We must let her deal with Fenris as she sees fit," Solas continued. His expression was neutral, but he sounded as if he was not quite convinced himself.

Dorian shook his head in disbelief. "I _believed _her," he breathed, looking at his feet. "She said it was just the Well, the Voices. Thinking how to deal with Corypheus. With all that, how could I _not_ believe her," Dorian said, more to himself. He stepped up a stair, standing close to Solas again as he glared at him. The loving way Lavellan had spoken of Solas, he knew ending the relationship must have been Solas's doing, not hers. "But no. _You_ are the reason. What did you _do_ to her?"

"I would rather not discuss this. What happened between us was… a private matter," Solas said, standing stiffly.

"Private? She runs the fucking Inquisition! Nothing she does is private! Anything that happens to her, everything she does, affects the whole damn _world_!" Dorian ranted, voice rising.

"_That _is precisely why she must focus on the task at hand," Solas said, struggling to keep his voice level.

Dorian grit his teeth, looking as if he might punch Solas then and there. "So you thought _now_ would be a good time to break her heart? Did you not think _that_ would be a bit of a _distraction_?"

"I do not owe you an explanation. If she wishes to tell you more that is her choice. I however, will not discuss this," Solas answered, tone slipping into anger. "Now, if I may, I would like to go do as your only friend requested."

Dorian exhaled sharply. He looked past Solas, back toward the Inquisitor's quarters, pausing as he thought. "Fine. Do as you please, since that is what you will do anyway," he said, sweeping a hand toward the descending stairs. "And she would never forgive me for harming you, even now."

Solas passed Dorian, gripping the railing as he descended. He made his way down several steps before Dorian's voice made him pause.

"All that destiny has shoved upon her, and I have never seen her falter, but once," Dorian said, voice barely more than a whisper. Solas did not turn, and Dorian spoke to his back. "The day she came back without her marks, her vallaslin. She said she asked you to remove them. Is that true, or did she lie about that, as well?"

"No, that is… what happened, in short," Solas said, closing his eyes briefly as he remembered that moment in the grotto.

"We were to meet to discuss the Venatori mages that evening. And I found her crying on her balcony. Cursing Corypheus, the red Templars, fate itself. Even those Creators of hers. It only lasted a few minutes, then it was back to business, of course. The Inquisitor through and through," Dorian said with a humorless chuckle. "But in those few minutes, I have never seen someone so… well, broken. Apparently _you_ are what finally let open the floodgates, so to speak. But, then she put herself back together."

Solas said nothing at first. It gnawed at him, knowing the burden she was carrying, and his part in it. Distancing himself from her was meant to prevent adding to it further. Not that he could explain that now. "Why tell me this? I already know she is a strong woman with the world on her shoulders," he said, grip tightening on the railing.

"Have you ever pieced something back together after its been broken?" Dorian asked. "It may be repaired, functional. It may even look fine. But it will never be the same as before. And you will always be able to feel the cracks."

Solas stood a moment longer, one hand gripping the rail and the other making a fist at his side. He heard Dorian turn, stairs creaking slightly as he ascended back toward Lavellan's quarters. Solas closed his eyes, letting out a long breath. Straightening, composing himself, he descended to the Great Hall. He stopped in his rotunda long enough to collect his staff and drink a lyrium potion. Then he headed for the dungeon.

* * *

Fenris sat in the corner of his cell, fiddling with the shackles binding his wrists. He had to find some weakness in them. The metal of the shackles and the short chain connecting them was strong, and the magic nullifying runes decorated every inch of the metalwork. Perhaps he could damage the runes, enough that he could stand the pain of activating his lyrium tattoos and phasing out of the shackles.

He was no stranger to pain, after all. But even with the healer's work his body and head were throbbing. The damned mage had inflicted her share of damage, before he had finally gotten under her defenses that last time. He had been so close. A second away from avenging Hawke.

Gwen.

Fenris's hands fell to his lap as he closed his eyes, thinking of the woman he loved. Her dark blonde hair, quick smile, and quicker wit. The fury with which she fought, and the gentleness of her touch. Her steadfastness, constant concern for others, the look in her eyes when she told him she loved him.

Her promise. Just before they parted last. Her promise that she would return to him.

Fenris's knees drew up to his chest, his face buried in his hands, his eyes shut tight against the memories. He did not stir when he heard murmuring outside his cell. He looked up, though, as his cell door clanged open just long enough for a short figure to enter.

"Varric," Fenris said simply. His hands fell to his lap, but he made no move to stand.

"Broody," Varric responded. "I… I wasn't expecting to see you this far south." He rubbed a hand against the back of his neck, not looking at Fenris. When he did not respond, Varric sighed and approached the elf. "Look, Fenris," he started, abandoning the nickname in the seriousness of the situation. "You've been in some shit situations before. The whole Denarius thing. When those blood mages kidnapped you to get to Hawke. But this…"

Fenris grunted in reply, jaw set firmly and eyes narrowed.

Varric crouched down next to Fenris. "_Shit_, Fenris. I can't… I can't talk you out of this one. The Inquisitor has a thing for mercy, but you did try to kill her. Came close, actually. And…," Varric sighed. "And Hawke's not here to save you."

Fenris's fists clenched. "Because she's _dead_, Varric. Gwen is dead, and you still stand with the mage who killed her," he hissed, enraged.

Varric stood again, pacing the couple steps the small cell allowed. "It wasn't like that. I told you already, in the letter. Andraste's ass, it's not like Lavellan took a blade to her." Varric made a noise of frustration. He moved to the wall, sliding down it to sit next to Fenris.

"That was the hardest letter I've ever had to write," Varric said quietly, gaze distant. "I know you don't want to hear it. Shit, I sure didn't. But… she sacrificed _herself_, covering our escape, by staying back in the Fade," Varric said, voice hollow.

Fenris's fists were still clenched, nails biting into his palms. "It was not her sacrifice to make! She should not have been there, it was the Inquisition's fight, not hers!"

Varric smiled half-heartedly. "She was being Hawke. You know, rooting out problems and saving everyone else. And she felt responsible for Corypheus, too."

A moment of silence passed. Fenris sighed, flexing his fingers as he looked at the opposite wall. "I should have been there. Between the two of us –"

"I _was_ there. That last demon, Andraste's tits it was huge. Believe me when I tell you, it would've taken a whole army to cut that thing down," Varric said dismissively.

"Then I could have been the one to stay behind," Fenris insisted.

"Ha!" Varric huffed without humor. "I thought the same thing, but you really think Gwen would've allowed that? For either of us?"

Fenris's lips set in a firm line. He knew Varric was right. "I should not have let her come alone. I should have been at her side, until the end. She was… the best of us. She should have survived. And if she had to die, it should not have been alone."

Varric sighed heavily. He placed a hand on Fenris's shoulder. "You're not saying anything I haven't thought, too, Broody."

A moment passed, both consumed by their own grief.

"You know," Varric started, voice distant. "They're a lot alike. Lavellan and Hawke."

Fenris shook off Varric's hand, scrambling to his feet. He glared down at Varric, enraged. "How can you say that?! How can you compare her to the person who left her to die?!" How could he betray Hawke like this?

Steps advanced to the cell door, but Fenris did not turn, instead still focused on Varric. The dwarf waved a hand, dismissing who ever had approached, apparently to make sure Fenris would not kill Varric. The steps echoed as the person left.

"Well, there's the whole mage thing, for one," Varric said, still seated, ticking off the similarities on his fingers. "Lavellan leads a band of crazies and keeps them from killing each other. She's damned protective of us, too. She jokes around less, but she's big on helping everyone she comes across. Sound familiar?"

Fenris scowled. He could see the similarities, but no – he could not forgive Lavellan. His grief and rage would not allow it.

Varric stood. "You know, Hawke never asked for any of the shit in her life. The Blight. Losing her family. The Qunari thing. Blondie's mess. But she kept going. Kept saving every damn soul she could." Varric met Fenris's angry, hurt gaze, his own expression one of exhaustion. "Same with the Inquisitor. She has shit luck, all the strange things that happen to her. But she's still fighting, trying to save everyone she can."

"Which is only one of the reasons you should not have made an attempt on her life," said Solas, standing outside the cell door with staff in hand. Varric's gaze snapped to him and Fenris whirled around. His quiet gait had allowed him to sneak up on them. Iron Bull approached behind him, keys for the cells in hand.

"Shit, Chuckles. I think you need a change of clothes," Varric said, half-heartedly attempting at levity in the tense atmosphere, but his words rang hollow. He nodded, indicating the bloodstains soaking Solas's clothing. More blood stood out on the pale skin of his hands.

"It is the Inquisitor's blood, Child of the Stone," Solas said in answer. His gaze was fixed on Fenris, expression neutral but for a slight narrowing of his eyes. "I thought your friend should see some sign of the damage he has caused."

"It was not enough to kill her," Fenris bit out through gritted teeth. "That is all I want to see – her, dead at my feet."

"Enough of that, Tats," said Iron Bull, voice carrying a predatory edge. He unlocked the cell door, pulling it open. Fenris could see others behind him – no point in charging the door, then. Solas slid in, the small cell feeling crowded. Iron Bull clanged the door shut, then he and his Chargers moved back to the collection of chairs they had set up on the far side of the dungeon. Complete with drinks and cards. Solas would shout if he needed help.

"Solas – " Varric started, fearing a dark intent behind the elf's slightly tense movements. _Shit. How do I ask him not to kill Fenris? Say please? _

"The Inquisitor has asked that I heal him, Varric," Solas said, cutting in before Varric could find the right words.

"Do not touch me, mage," spat Fenris. This was the man who had kept him from avenging Hawke. The man in love with Gwen's murderer.

"You still regard mages with such vehemence?" Solas asked with an unimpressed huff, frowning. "I would have thought your mage, the Champion, had changed that."

With an outraged roar Fenris hurled himself toward Solas grabbing him by the shirt and slamming him against the bars of the closed cell door. The chain between his shackles rattled at the movement. One of his hands gripped the same spot on Solas's shirt where earlier Lavellan had twisted her bloodied grasp.

"Do not speak of her!" Fenris, his deep, gravelly voice thick with rage. "_Your_ mage left her to die!"

Varric rushed forward, trying his best to pull Fenris away from Solas, but his grip on the mage only tightened. "Damn it, Fenris! You're making it worse for yourself!"

Solas, his head ringing from impact with the bars, met Fenris's snarling expression with one of his own. "So you rather the Inquisitor had stayed in the Fade instead? So that you might have your love back?"

"Yes!" Fenris shouted, his expression pained. Gwen. The woman who had saved him, loved him, accepted his love. He wanted her back. "Fate took everything from her already. She did not deserve death alone in such a cursed place."

"Ah, but it is not about what one deserves," Solas said, still meeting Fenris's glare. "It is about what is necessary. Especially in war, where sacrifice is expected."

Fenris's grip tightened, and he pulled the mage forward to slam him back again. Before he could, his lyrium markings burst to light, flames of agony shooting through him. He shouted in pain and surprise, releasing Solas. He tried in paniced desperation to pull off the shackles, which burned at his wrists far worse than the tattoos. The runes on the shackles glowed intensely, reacting to the lyrium. Fenris stumbled back, looking from his wrists to Solas. The mage had managed to keep a grip on his staff, a light glowing in its crystal. It was _him_ doing this, something he had only experienced before at the hands of Denarius.

"Fenris, stop! You're going to kill yourself!" Varric shouted, desperate, grabbing at Fenris's arm. He did not understand yet that it was Solas, not an enraged, insane Fenris activating the lyrium.

Solas straightened, stepping toward Fenris as he stumbled into the back wall of the cell. Fenris swore in Tevene, the words gasped out in little more than a spiteful whisper. Fenris, weakened with pain, sank to the stone floor. Varric looked up at Solas to see the light in his staff disappear, and his jaw dropped as he understood. The glow of the lyrium tattoos dissipated, leaving Fenris gasping for breath.

"Andraste's ass, Solas! Stop torturing him! He's lost everything, he doesn't need this shit on top of it!" Varric exclaimed angrily, glowering at the mage. He kneeled beside Fenris, hand on his shoulder.

Solas ignored him, focusing on Fenris. His neutral expression disappeared altogether, leaving one creased with anger. "Have you not considered the consequences? What would happen if you had indeed succeeded in killing the Inquisitor? Or if she had elected to stay behind in the Fade to save Hawke?" Solas demanded, looking down at Fenris and Varric crouched beside him.

"She is the only one who can seal the rifts scattered throughout the world!" Solas continued, himself enraged. "And she is likely the only one who can defeat Corypheus. You would doom the world to being overrun with demons, and leave it in the hands of an ancient magister who calls himself a god, just so you could save one woman?!"

Fenris did not reply. He tried to stand, but Varric held him in place by the arm. Blood was beginning to show through the white bandages, wounds opened anew under the exertion. Varric couldn't let Fenris do something more to endanger himself.

"And what would your Hawke say?" Solas demanded. "From what I understand, she was a brave and selfless woman. What would she think of you valuing her life over those of every other person? She herself volunteered to stay behind, because _she_ knew the world's need for the Inquisitor."

A tense Varric watched Fenris's face shift to an expression of guilt and pain beyond the physical. His breathing still ragged, he managed to shift himself so he was sitting with his back against the stone wall. He shook off Varric's hand, looking up to meet Solas's gaze.

"Kill me then," Fenris said, deep voice laced with sorrow and a more muted anger. He pushed away the hand Varric had returned to his arm in an attempt to stop him. "Execute me for trying to kill the world's savior," he continued, tone thick with disdain and sarcasm. He narrowed his eyes, lips twisting into a half smile. "Or, if this is really about me trying to kill the woman you love, then take your revenge. It's what I would do."

Solas crouched before Fenris, still meeting his gaze. He drew his staff across his knees. "Believe me, Fenris. I would enjoy few things more." Solas held up his free hand, stopping Varric from speaking. "Unfortunately for the both of us, the Inquisitor wants you alive and well. And I have given her my word I would see you healed."

Solas gripped his staff in the center and swept it to the side, and twisted his free hand. The crystal on the staff grew bright, and blue healing magic glowed around his hand. When the magic was nearly blinding in brightness, he flicked his wrist toward Fenris. The spell engulfed him briefly in blue light before dimming away to nothing. The lyrium potion Solas had drank earlier had provided him enough energy to use the general, powerful restorative healing spell he used during battles. Fenris felt the fogginess from the concussion leave his mind. His wounds sealed and his damaged skin renewed itself.

"Iron Bull," Solas called, drawing his staff across his knees again and still watching Fenris. "Our assassin friend is healed." Heavy footsteps and clang followed as the leader of the Chargers opened the cell door.

Solas stayed where he was another moment, gaze intent. "However, Fenris. Should you harm her again, not even she will be able to keep me from killing you." His quiet voice left no doubt regarding the truth of his words.

"Save your threats," Fenris huffed, but his exhausted voice rang hollow.

"Hm," Solas responded. He stood, leaving the cell.

"Fenris…," Varric started, for a rare moment unsure what to say.

"Leave me be, Varric," Fenris said, turning his face away from the dwarf.

Varric sighed, heavy steps carrying him out of the cell. Iron Bull shut and locked the door behind him. They left Fenris alone in his emptiness. He buried his face in his hands, tears for Hawke finally overcoming him.

* * *

**Author's Note:** Hi again! Thank you so much for the views, reviews, favorites, and follows! I rarely let people read what I write, so it's awesome to put this out there and have people respond. :D

I struggled a bit this chapter with capturing everyone's voices properly. I worry Dorian's statement about broken things was a bit heavy for him, but I really wanted to illustrate his intense loyalty to Lavellan. Any suggestions?

As a guest reviewer mentioned, Solas did give Fenris a bit of payback this chapter!

I went back and forth on whether or not to use the generic female Hawke, but I really love Gwen from my own playthrough, so I went ahead and used her here. Do you guys have a preference?

Thanks again guys! I'm working on the next chapter, so I hope to see you again soon!


	7. Chapter 7

**AN: **I know this chapter is way late considering my original plan to post once a week, sorry! I got distracted by an idea for another fic, so I started that one, and... kinda kept going until I had a few chapters done. Now I'm balancing the two, and hoping to get back to a once a week schedule for both. But, it might end up being a bit more than a week for a chapter for one of the fics sometimes, since I'm working on two simultaneously.

A shoutout and huge thank you to NightlyRowenTree, who posted a review on each Consequences' chapters! I'm soooo glad you're enjoying it! I know what you mean about poor Fenris, I got a bit emotional myself editing chapter 6.

So now - Fenris and the Inquisitor are healed (mostly? physically?), so what more could happen? They shake hands and go their separate ways? Of course not! Something else must go wrong! I hope you enjoy this chapter anyways!

* * *

Varric followed Solas up the stairs leading out of the dungeon. "What was that?" he demanded. "Before the healing spell."

"I simply channeled magic through his lyrium markings. The reaction between the magic and lyrium is quite volatile. I imagine having that reaction occur within the skin is therefore quite painful," Solas answered, his voice taking on its typical polite and detached tone.

Varric's anger spiked at his casual response to harming his friend. Rationality tried to intervene, reminding him that Fenris had indeed started that particular fight. "How did you know to do that, though? And how to do it? It's something that sick bastard Denarius, his old magister master, did to him, you know," Varric said, sneering at the thought of the magister. At least they had killed him long ago. The world could use fewer assholes like that.

"I recall reading of that in your book on the Champion," Solas remarked. He was silent for a moment, then sighed, glancing at Varric over his shoulder. "You know of the vallaslin, the markings the Dalish wear."

"Yeah, like the Inquisitor had," Varric agreed. "Before you used some weird magic to erase them, right?" There was too much weird magical shit happening all the time now. Varric quieted with a furrowed brow, assuming Solas would explain the connection between the two subjects.

Varric could not see Solas frown at his description, still behind him as they ascended the stairs toward the courtyard. "The Inquisitor spoke of it?" he asked.

Varric chuckled dryly. "Since it was on her face it was pretty obvious when it disappeared. She couldn't just _not_ give an explanation, Chuckles."

"Then she also told you why. That the vallaslin were originally used as slave markings in the time of Arlathan," Solas said.

"Yeah, that you figured it out doing your Fade walk thing," Varric said, getting exasperated. "And what does this have to do with Fenris? The magister was a Tevinter human, not an ancient elf."

Solas sighed, remembering. "Especially troublesome slaves would have their faces marked using lyrium instead of ink. The master could then use a mere flick of magic to inflict pain upon those slaves. It was used to… _encourage _obedience. Denarius must have learned of the technique from writings by the elves of Arlathan," Solas explained, a hard edge to his voice.

Varric huffed in disgust. "I'm glad that particular practice fell out of favor."

"As am I," Solas agreed. "Though, in the Fade, I never saw the lyrium markings used to augment spell power as Denarius intended with Fenris. Nor did I see the markings so widespread over the body. I assume that is because the likelihood of killing the subject rises exponentially with higher concentrations of lyrium. The magister must have experimented with the technique extensively. I imagine he went through many slaves before arriving at a method that did not kill the subject outright," Solas explained, his distaste for the long-dead magister and the use of slaves obvious in his tone.

"So you used that knowledge to hurt him," Varric stated with an undertone of accusation.

Solas paused on the stairs, a few steps from the door leading outside. He turned to look at Varric directly. "My intent was not to torture him, Varric. It seemed a quick way to incapacitate him, so that he would release me and allow the healing." He walked up the last steps to the door, pausing with a hand resting against the handle. "I… admit, I may have over done it. It is difficult to remain calm when facing someone who harmed a friend."

Varric rubbed a hand across his face. "Yeah, I get that," he said, voice hollow.

Solas pushed the door open, hearing the dwarf follow as he stepped out into the courtyard. "I imagine this situation is quite trying for you especially," he said quietly when Varric matched his gait to walk at his side.

"You must be mistaken. I'm all sunshine and rainbows over here," Varric said with a humorless chuckle.

"Exhausted," said a quiet voice behind them. They turned to see Cole, the spirit boy peering at Varric from beneath his hat. "Tired of getting friends in trouble. Tired of friends getting hurt and dying."

"Hey, Kid," Varric said, not bothering to deny what Cole saw in his head.

"You're tired, Varric. But sleep won't help…?" Cole questioned, unsure as he tried to understand.

"Not this kind of tired, Kid. Don't worry about it, I'll be fine once we finish off that nughumper Corypheus. I'll sleep for a week then," Varric said, smiling slightly at the spirit of compassion.

Cole tipped his head the other way, looking back at the door to the dungeon. "Sleep doesn't help him, either. He sees her dying, a hundred different ways, every time he closes his eyes. He can't help her, can't protect her. Part of him understands, but he wants her back. Needs her back."

Varric sighed. "That's how it is when someone dies. The people still living miss them."

"It haunts him," Cole continued, still focused on the door to the dungeon. "All he had was hate and revenge. Then the bird _fixed_ it, fixed the wolf. Better than I would have. She filled him with love and life, then left. Without her, he only has the hate again." Cole's intense gaze snapped upward, so he was looking toward the Inquisitor's quarters. "That's why he hurt _her_."

Varric and Solas shared a look.

"And how fairs the Inquisitor, Cole?" Solas asked.

The spirit tilted his head as if listening for something. "Her body is resting, but her mind isn't. It's in the Fade." Cole looked down, shuffling his feet.

Solas narrowed his eyes at this. Between her drained state and the sleeping draught, she should not be able to enter the Fade. The draught was specific in causing a deep sleep that would help the body recuperate, and as such dreaming or consciously walking in the Fade should be impossible.

One of Cole's hands played absently with the amulet around his neck. "I should help her. I'm light enough now, I think I can slip back into the Fade. But I don't know if I can come back. It was hard, the first time." He looked up, his face twisted with indecision. "I can help more people if I'm here. If I help fight the Elder One. But I want to help her."

"Is she in trouble?" Solas asked, mind beginning to race. Her body and mind were both weakened at this point, which could leave her vulnerable to more malevolent beings in the Fade. He didn't have so little faith in her to think she might make a deal with such a being and give in to possession, of course. Still, one must be careful in navigating the Fade, and she may not be so carful in her current state.

"She's scared," Cole answered. "Lost. Demons might see her."

"Maybe you should help with that, Chuckles," Varric suggested. "Since the Fade is your second home, and we can't have the Inquisitor wandering off, so to speak."

Solas hesitated a moment. He had carefully avoided Ellana's dreams since ending their relationship. He would not assume that he still had her permission to visit her dreams. Surely she would forgive him this time, if his intent was to aid her. Even if she did not, he could live with that. As long as she was safe. "A good idea," he said finally with a nod.

Cole smiled at the mage. "Don't worry. She's always happy to see you. She doesn't like it since you pulled away, but she can't help it." He tilted his head, looking thoughtful. "And you are happy to see her. You should say that. Both of you. You can use words to heal that hurt."

This was not the first time the spirit of compassion had brought up similar suggestions. "Not all hurts can be so simply healed, Cole," Solas said with a shake of his head. "Please, let this go."

Cole frowned. "It _is_ simple! But you still won't do it. Why? I don't understand, Solas," he exclaimed, frustrated.

Varric interjected. "Love is complicated, Kid. People have to figure it out for themselves, sometimes." He moved to Cole's side, patting his arm. "Come on, we should let him go save the Inquisitor. Maybe they'll end up _talking_, too," he said with a wink.

Solas frowned slightly, his mind preoccupied. "By your leave," he said with stiff formality that communicated his disapproval of Varric's comment. With a slight bow of his head he turned on his heel and headed up the stone steps into the Great Hall.

"Can we help Fenris?" Cole asked after a moment, looking down at the dwarf.

Varric grimaced. "Eh, he's not really fond of mages, so I don't think he'll react very positively to a spirit from the Fade."

"He won't remember meeting me," Cole insisted.

Varric looked over his shoulder at the door leading to the dungeon, remembering how Fenris had acted during their visit. "Maybe later, Kid. I think he needs to be alone for a while." Varric's frown deepened. "He likes to brood, and he's got a lot to brood about."

Cole made a noise, frustrated at his attempts to help being dismissed.

"Hey, but you can help me, Kid," Varric said, thumbing over his shoulder at the tavern. "I could use a drink. If we find a deck of cards I can teach you to play Nug Knuckles."

Varric looked back up at Cole's face, finding the spirit's wide blue eyes focused on him. "It's not your fault, Varric. Hawke wanted to help. And Fenris is okay if the Inquisitor decides to execute him," Cole said, tone comforting.

In spite of Cole's intention, Varric felt ice run through his veins at his words. "I'm going to need you to explain that last part, Kid," he said through clenched teeth, turning to face Cole. Fenris had always been a fighter, a survivor. Varric had not considered, not _allowed_ himself to consider, that Hawke's death may have changed that.

"He came to kill the Inquisitor. He thought he wouldn't be able to escape after that," Cole's face twisted again as if he was concentrating. "He was okay with that. He thought he might not try, even."

"Why?" Varric asked quietly, though he already suspected the answer.

Cole frowned, evidently disliking what he 'heard' from Fenris's mind. "He thinks if he kills the Inquisitor and dies, he'll avenge Hawke. Atone for failing her. He thinks it's his fault, like you do. That she died." The spirit bent down, looking intently into Varric's eyes. "But it was the demon, Varric. You're not the demon."

Varric exhaled heavily through his nose, jaw clenched and arms crossed. He was looking down, thinking, as he shifted his weight from one leg to the other. The Kid was right, that he also felt like he had failed Hawke. But he couldn't just fold, not now. Not when another friend needed him. Especially not when that friend had been so important to Hawke.

He looked toward the dungeon door. Broody was in a dark place. Darker than usual. He would try to help with that. His gaze shifted to the giant doors leading into the Great Hall. _But first, I need to get the 'execute the glowy elf' option off the table. _

"I'll have to take a rain check on the drink, Kid," Varric said, heading for the stone stairs. "I've got some fast-talking to do."

Cole held his hat to his head with one hand, looking directly up. Rain? His distraction lasted only a moment, as other hurts pulled at his mind. He set to work, invisible to most of Skyhold's residents.


	8. Chapter 8

Solas made his way through the Great Hall once again, aware of the multitude of stares directed at him. He glanced down at his still-bloody clothing, berating himself. He should have changed, or at least covered up the stains with a cloak. There was no need for the residents and guests of Skyhold to see evidence of the severity of Ellana's injuries. He managed to keep his expression neutral even as he quickened his pace and entered the door leading to the Inquisitor's quarters.

As he climbed the stairs once again, staff tapping against the wood, he became aware of hushed voices. He turned a corner, spotting Dorian and Cassandra a couple flights above him at the last landing before the door to the Inquisitor's quarters. Dorian was sitting on a step, his staff leaning against the railing. A tome sat open in his lap, forgotten as he spoke with Cassandra and gestured widely. The Seeker, stance one of tension and hard angles, was frowning down at the mage.

" – and obviously not sleeping since," Dorian was saying. He held several fingers up, as if he had been counting off something.

"And you think it is all because of Solas?" Cassandra responded, doubtful.

Dorian caught sight of Solas from the corner of his eye. He jerked his head to look fully at the mage, frowning as he approached behind Cassandra. "Not all, but he certainly didn't help, did he?"

Cassandra turned to face Solas, her arms still crossed and features narrowed in a frown. "Solas. Between what Varric said earlier and what Dorian has just told me, I am guessing all is not well between you and the Inquisitor," she stated, referencing Varric's outburst about Solas metaphorically ripping out her heart.

Solas's lips set in a firm line. "It is a private matter, Seeker. I would rather not –"

Cassandra cut him off with a gesture. "Of course. I am not asking for details. I only ask that you be aware of the pressure she is under and the severity of the situation we are in."

Solas was slightly taken aback, having expected the strong -willed Seeker to demand answers. "Believe me, Seeker. I am very much aware," he responded evenly.

Dorian pushed himself up from the stair abruptly, the book falling from his lap to the floor with a thump. "Then I suggest you do something to help _ease_ her burden, not add to it!" he hissed, his fury from earlier still very much alive.

"Are you suggesting I rekindle our relationship merely to 'ease her burden'? It would be superficial and untrue, and how would that aid her exactly?" Solas threw back angrily. "Such a thing would only be cruel to both of us."

Dorian made to retort, but stopped himself. A moment passed, as he looked down at the book he had dropped. He picked it up, turning his gaze back to Solas as he straightened. He was sneering slightly as he spoke. "I'm not saying _bed_ her, elf. Though a good night's exertion can do wonders for stress," he said off-handedly. Cassandra made a noise of exasperation at this. "But surely you can manage being _kind_ enough to be a friend to her." He shoved the open book into Solas's hands. "You are the elven expert, yes? Help her with that aspect, as we certainly can't."

Solas looked down at the open pages, wondering what this book had to do with Ellana. _Or rather, the Inquisitor_, he corrected himself. He had let his emotions carry him away earlier. He must again reinforce distance between them.

The first page displayed a rich illustration of a male elf firing an arrow straight into the sky. Other elves stood back from him, upturned eyes following the flight of the arrow. Solas skimmed the text on the right-hand page, recognizing the story of Fen'Harel and the Slow Arrow. He frowned, setting his staff aside so he could leaf through the book. He stopped on another illustration, this one showing an elven woman armed with bow and arrow fighting a monstrous serpent. The text spoke of Andruil's battle with the disguised Mythal. Solas paused at another illustration which depicted an elven woman, Mythal supposedly, emerging from the sea. He closed the book and read the title. _Tales of the Elven Pantheon_ by Brother Genitivi.

Solas looked up, confused. "Why are you reading on the elven gods?"

Dorian shook his head. "Not my first choice for entertainment, I've had enough of old gods between Tevinter history and Corypheus. These books were here on the stairs, and they're all on elven this or elven that. Marna said the Inquisitor had requested them," he explained indicating the other three books on the step. "She must have some relevant question, hm? Perhaps something to do with the mysterious Well she drank from in that elven temple?"

"I will take them to her room, then," Solas said, still frowning. "I wish to check on her in the Fade. Cole mentioned she may need help."

Dorian's expression darkened as he scooped up the books from the step. "But with the sleeping draught she should not be able to…"

"My thoughts exactly," Solas said with a nod. "Perhaps the anchor has something to do with it."

"Elan and Marna are still with the Inquisitor. A moment," Cassandra said before quickly climbing the last of the stairs and entering Lavellan's quarters.

Dorian exhaled, turning back to Solas as Cassandra disappeared. "If you are going to be the mage guard for a while, I'll go change into something less… red, then," he said, picking at the dried blood on his clothing. Dorian handed the books to Solas then gathered his staff and set off downstairs.

"Oh," Dorian called, making Solas turn slightly to see him on the stairs below. "Since you're obviously not interested, I'll just have to ask Iron Bull about the whole 'bed the Inquisitor' thing. I'm sure he would be willing to give her a good de-stressing," he said, smirking.

Solas schooled his face to neutrality, answering in an uninterested tone. "That would be the Inquisitor's business, not mine."

"So you say," Dorian huffed, turning on his heel and descending the stairs.

Solas sighed, shuffling the books so he could balance them in one arm. He grabbed his staff in the other and climbed the stairs, reaching the door just as Cassandra reemerged.

"She seems to be sleeping peacefully," Cassandra said with a frown, standing in the open doorway. "You are certain something is amiss?"

"It is possible. It would ease our minds to find out for sure either way," Solas said.

Cassandra nodded and stepped aside. Before Solas could pass her though, she spoke again. "I do not know what happened between you and Ellana, Solas," she said quietly. "But I recall you addressing her by that endearment earlier. 'Vhenan' was it not?" She asked, eyebrows lifted in curiosity.

"I spoke without thinking, Seeker. I was shocked, as you can understand, seeing the Inquisitor in such a state," Solas replied evenly. "You will have to forgive my momentary lapse."

"Of course," Cassandra said, head tilted slightly. "I merely thought I would remind you of your thoughts when faced with her near death."

Solas sighed. He wondered briefly if telling Ellana the truth, instead of ending their relationship, would have been easier to handle than all these reactions and comments by the others. "Seeker…"

"Nevermind. Go, help her," Cassandra said with a wave of her hand. "I must meet with Cullen and Leliana. I will send soldiers to be sure she is well guarded."

Solas nodded once in acknowledgement then entered Lavellan's quarters. He heard Cassandra close the door behind him as he ascended the last of the stairs into the room proper.


End file.
